It had all taken less than a minute, and now the driver had scrambled back to the front seat, and the engine was shaking the car. Then they were moving. Tom, panting from his exertions, relaxed and took a long breath. Dust filled his throat and nostrils, and he sneezed violently. Wrath induced one final struggle, but, although momentarily unseated, Wattles remained in command of the situation. Tom stopped writhing and considered events with a fair degree of calmness. The car, a good one although of ancient vintage, after negotiating the streets of the town at moderate speed, was now on a straight hard road, and the engine’s voice arose to a louder song. Wattles, who had removed his overcoat before meeting Tom――it was a newish coat, and he wanted nothing unfortunate to happen to it in case Tom proved obstinate――shivered as, sitting sidewise on Tom’s legs, he strove to keep his balance, and at the same time protect himself from the rush of the cold night wind. It was a most uncomfortable position, but Wattles was game. With Wattles duty was duty, and he was prepared to sit like that all the way back to Freeburg if necessary. But it wasn’t necessary. Some ten minutes after they had left the station there was a series of muffled sounds from under the robe and Wattles, leaning nearer, said: “Pardon, Mister Tom. Will you say that again, please, sir?” “I said if you don’t take this pesky thing off I’ll smother!” answered Tom through the folds. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid it’s rather uncomfortable, and I’m sure you’ll understand, sir, how much I deplore the necessity of the――the methods――” “I can’t hear what you’re saying!” shouted Tom in exasperation. “_Take this off me! Let me out!_” “Certainly, sir, only, asking your pardon, Mister Tom, I must have your agreement not to leave the car.” “Go to thunder!” said Tom. “Yes, sir.” Wattles retreated, shivering violently. After a minute more sounds reached him from beneath the rug and again he leaned closer. “I’ll promise, Wattles, you blamed idiot! Only take this horse blanket off me!” “Yes, indeed, sir! Just a moment!” Wattles’s hands were busied, the restraint vanished from Tom’s arms, the awful robe dragged chokingly away from his face, and he sat up, gasping. Wattles, balancing himself precariously on his feet, was holding the robe and, as shown by the brief radiance of a passing light, shivering like an aspen. Tom could almost hear the chattering of his teeth. That momentary vision of the long, mournful countenance, agitated by the shivers that chased up and down Wattles’s spine, was too much for Tom. He forgot that he was dreadfully angry and humiliated, and burst into wild laughter. The driver turned an inquiring face, looked briefly, and unemotionally gave his attention back to the road. Wattles, fearing hysteria, looked down in grave anxiety, and shivered harder than ever. At last: “For the love of mud, Wattles, put your coat on!” gasped Tom as he weakly pulled himself onto the seat.